


Thought That Was a Good Solution

by clio_jlh



Category: Glee
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexual Character of Color, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Bisexual Male Character, F/F, Future Fic, Humor, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Music, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year out of college, Quinn changes her mind about her future, which puts her back within reach of Mercedes, someone from her past she'd thought she'd lost.  But second verse will not be same as the first—not if Kurt and Puck have anything to say about it.  (Background Kurt/Blaine, Puck/Sam, Santana/Brittany.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thought That Was a Good Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Let's pretend that all the decisions made about college and the future in the last episodes of s3 didn't happen that way, shall we? Otherwise fairly canon-compliant through s3, though firmly future-fic.  
> So I've only been thinking about this story since the end of season 1, but I'm glad I waited until now to finish it. GIANT thanks to sistermagpie and amyamy for their help in getting the story to the place it needed to be, and to everyone on tumblr who ships Quinn/Mercedes and provided visual inspiration. Title from the Tori Amos song "Cornflake Girl."

_ Lima, OH, April 2010 _

It had been easy for Mercedes to offer up her home to Quinn—a snap decision, one she knew her mother would support. Second nature, to help a friend in need. How this had evolved into sharing a bed whenever Quinn needed some reassurance Mercedes wasn't sure. But she did know there wasn't anyone else giving that or much else to Quinn, these days.

“Scared?” Quinn said, making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I’m terrified.”

Mercedes kept rubbing her back, behind her on the bed. “I know,” she said, because what else was there to say? “It’ll be over soon.”

“What if it isn’t? What if—“

“Then you’ll stay here.”

Quinn shifted, sitting back against Mercedes’s body. She squirmed around until she’d settled into just the right spot and Mercedes bit her lip. She was not going to indulge in this yearning for her friend. If she’d learned anything from Kurt—her crush on him and his on Finn—it was that yearning was a no win situation, especially when folks’ sexualities weren’t lined up.

Quinn pulled Mercedes’s arms around her. “I wish we could sleep like this,” she said. “You’re more comfortable than a pillow.”

“Thanks?”

She giggled, and Mercedes could feel her vibrating. “Sorry,” she said, putting Mercedes’s hands on her bump. “It’s just easy to forget everything here.”

Mercedes sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “It is.”

* * *

_ New York, NY, September 2017 _

The deal was that unless they had a show, they all went to each other’s shows, so Mercedes was unsurprised to look out in the audience and see Kurt, Blaine, Puck and Rachel. They were starting to get regulars, too, as Mercedes could pick out some other familiar faces in the crowd. After the show they hung out in the back; half of Puck’s band had shown up, too.

Rachel said, “So did you see who’s moved to the city?”

“No?” Mercedes said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You turned off your phone when you got here and didn’t turn it back on again, didn’t you.”

Mercedes reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “No,” she said. “It’s just on _silent_.” She looked at the screen. “Quinn?”

“She has a new job in advertising,” Rachel said. “And she's living with some sorority sisters in Astoria.”

“Huh,” Mercedes said, staring at her phone.

“Puck?” Blaine asked. “ _You_ don’t seem that surprised.”

“She didn’t want anyone to know, all right?” he said. “The legal assistant job she took last year didn’t exactly work out.”

“I thought she wanted to be a lawyer?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah, well, now she doesn’t, and she didn’t want to say anything until she got something else.”

“Whyever not?” Rachel asked. “We could have helped, put our heads together—”

“Yeah, you guys are pretty intimidating,” Puck said. “You all know what you want and you always have.”

“You moved here,” Kurt said. “You got a band together, you’re a great bartender—”

“Yeah, but I used to be a fuck up, so I get it.”

“What’s important is that we know now,” Mercedes said. “Quinn’s got a right to her privacy like anyone else.”

“Mercedes is right,” Rachel said. “I propose we take Quinn to Veselka Friday night. Give her a proper introduction to New York.”

“You mean, an introduction to living cheap,” Blaine said.

“You can say that again,” Mercedes said, downing the rest of her club soda. “Okay, I need to go help load out or I’m not going to get home until three.” She got down off her stool and got a hug from Rachel.

“Hey,” Kurt said, softly enough to not be overheard, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve just been up almost twenty-four hours.”

Kurt smiled. “Sleep tomorrow. Blaine’s coming over tonight, by the way.”

“I figured,” she replied. “Just be done with your business by the time I get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Mercedes went backstage. Really there was no reason to feel thrown a little off balance because an old but good friend that you’ve admittedly only seen over the holidays back home the last five years has suddenly moved to your city. And yet when she saw that name on her phone, she was mostly glad that high school had taughter her how to keep her true feelings off her face.

* * *

After junior year of high school, when Mercedes once again got only one solo, her mother said if nobody’s answering, you gotta stop knocking on that door and go down the street. Mercedes already had a free period senior year, so she arranged for an independent study with Mr. Schue and began researching the careers of the singers she admired. She found that Broadway divas didn’t look like her; they looked and sounded like Rachel. Pop divas — a better chance, but they had little control over their careers. Mercedes liked to be the one in charge.

But the ones who wrote their own songs? Sure, they weren’t on TV or the radio all the time, but they decided what was what, and they had _respect_. Jill Scott even acted, was in some of those Tyler Perry movies Mercedes’s grandmother made everyone watch after holiday dinners. Jill and India Arie had Grammys and successful tours and sold enough records not to need a day job at least.

So Mercedes made some changes. She started taking piano lessons and got Puck to teach her guitar. She changed her college applications to schools with strong composition programs.

Her final paper for her independent study was about the relative lack of black female parts in Broadway musicals, and how glee club solo assignments at regionals reflected that trend. When Mr. Schue returned it, he had tears in his eyes.

“I'm so sorry, Mercedes,” he said. “I should have given you more, but clearly I’ve failed you.”

Mercedes shook her head. “You prepared me for the real world,” she replied.

After college she and Kurt moved to New York into a tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Mercedes put together a band from old classmates and friends, waited tables, and sometimes sang for radio and TV ads.

She refused to do session work or sing backup for anyone. She’d done enough of that in high school.

* * *

Quinn really had no reason to be nervous. These were her friends, her old, good friends that she’d sung with and partied with and who’d been there during the worst year of her life. Career change—that was just something a lot of people did.

As for other changes, well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

The restaurant they were meeting at was in the East Village, a cute little place very brightly lit with a counter and a glass case in the front, tables in the back, and all sorts of crazy decorations on the walls. She hesitated at the door, then saw Mercedes and the others at a table, and it was easy to smile back and walk into waiting hugs. A glance at the menu told her why they gathered here; cabbage pierogi was the kind of ethnic food her stomach knew what to do with. And they seemed actually honestly interested as she told them about the training program at the agency.

“So is it really like Mad Men?” Kurt asked.

“Well, it’s 2017,” she said, “so there are more women. Not many more African-Americans, though.”

Mercedes hmphed, which made Quinn smile.

“Anyway, what about you guys?” she asked.

Rachel opened her mouth but Mercedes spoke first—Quinn sensed to keep Rachel from taking over. “Rachel has been in some showcases and done a couple of staged readings. She’s up for an SVU victim part. My band just played a gig last night—we play out every few weeks, whenever we can, and otherwise I’m a waitress at a diner. Puck serves drinks without his shirt on at Splash and _his_ band is playing tomorrow night. Sam has been at a shoot in LA the past couple of days. Blaine plays rehearsal piano for voice coaches and new cast members of _Mamma Mia_ when he isn’t auditioning. And Kurt is currently obsessed with buying men’s coats for Lord  & Taylor.”

“Yes,” Kurt said, “you can be my ally in ‘supposedly glamorous day job that in practice is mostly making excel spreadsheets.’”

“They don’t know our pain,” Quinn said, and it was easy to laugh.

“I think we’re like _Rent_ ,” Rachel said.

“But we all live in Brooklyn instead of the East Village,” Mercedes said.

“And we’re not all HIV positive,” Kurt said.

“And we do have to pay rent, which sucks,” Puck said.

"And Collins is a girl and Mimi is a boy," Blaine said.

“And Puck’s the pretty boy frontman,” Kurt said.

“Who’s Rachel?” Quinn asked.

“Maureen,” they said, not even bothering to roll their eyes.

“I hope I’m not Benny,” Quinn said.

Mercedes looked up at Quinn. “Joanne.”

“But I’m not going to law —”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mercedes replied. “I’m not a professor, either.”

Quinn smiled. “Okay, then,” she said. “Joanne.”

* * *

Quinn's senior year of high school had been … rough. Time for a new start, so she went away to college even though it meant leaving her mom alone. She majored in history, but the law seemed interesting, too, so after graduation she got a job back home in Ohio as a legal secretary. You know, to check it out, save up some money while she studied for the LSATs.

Only, up close and not on television, the law turned out to be mostly research, mostly looking stuff up online or in books. It was like writing seven research papers every week. The associates worked insane hours with no real life in order to make partner. Even the partners didn't have the life she wanted, except for the men with stay-at-home wives. She looked around and thought, _no_.

In the meantime two of her college friends had started working in advertising in New York. It didn't pay a lot to start, but it was fun and there were parties and hey, she was pretty good at getting people to do what she wanted. She visited for a few days, terrified all the while that she'd run into one of her McKinley classmates, but there was almost no crossover between this crowd and theirs. The bars were fun, though it was kind of like being at a college, only with more money.

Then she went on an informational interview and saw people working hard and under a lot of pressure, yes, but also doing something creative and interesting. Not to mention there were women everywhere, even at the highest levels. This life, she could see herself having.

She went home, sent out resumes. Her friends said, "Dress really cool and act really excited." She did, and got a job. But she didn't tell anyone right away, other than Puck. She needed to get past the failure, first.

* * *

The next day Puck sent Quinn an invite from his band Hello Cleveland’s Facebook group. She changed into club-appropriate clothes in the office bathroom and grabbed a salad from Cosi for dinner, then headed to the lower east side club on the invite. Kurt, Blaine, Sam and Rachel were there, but no bands were playing.

“I thought it started at eight?” Quinn asked.

“It’s a rock club,” Sam said, shrugging. “They never start on time. They’re on second anyway, maybe 9:30?

“Puck hates seeing anyone before,” Rachel said, “so he’s hiding backstage as usual.”

Quinn wandered over to the bar to get a vodka and soda. While she waited she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. “Mercedes! Hey!” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Collins,” she replied, smiling. “What can I say? They started calling me that, so I tried it.”

Mostly it was just like the night before, chatting until the bands started, and through a lot of the first band, some kind of synth-turntable-drum machine group, though they clapped for every song. As Sam predicted, Puck’s band was onstage a little after 9:30.

“Yeah, we _are_ Hello, Cleveland!” Puck said to scattered hoots. The drummer clicked off the beat and they started their first song. Puck had sent Quinn the band’s latest demo a few months before so she’d heard most of the songs they played during their set—fun, straight-ahead, uncomplicated party rock music. The crowd wasn’t large, but bigger than for the earlier band, and interspersed with the too-cool-for-school hipsters were more than a few girls in cute little dresses dancing and smiling up at the band.

Their own little crew was in the middle of the crowd, dancing like friends in a club and Puck smiled when he caught their eye. It was fun, especially to see Rachel so openly enjoying something that wasn’t all about her (though that it wasn’t competing with her likely helped) and Kurt and Blaine dancing to rock music and laughing every time Puck did something on stage.

But to be honest, Quinn had mostly been watching Mercedes. She was pretty in her teal wrap shirt and jeans and it was like old times dancing next to her. Quinn wasn't sure if anyone noticed—she hoped they hadn't, and since Blaine and Kurt were as wrapped up in each other as ever and Rachel as wrapped up in _herself_ as ever, probably no one did.

Hello, Cleveland played a Pretenders cover as their last song and they sang along: _but not me baby! I’m too precious! Fuck off!_ Quinn was very sure she hadn’t had this much fun in quite a while. Her sorority and advertising friends didn't go out to see rock bands in tiny clubs.

Puck joined them after a bit. “Good show, wasn’t it?” he asked.

"You guys were great!" Quinn said.

"Starting to get some groupies," Sam said, tilting his head at some girls who'd been dancing close to the stage.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said, grinning. "What can I say? Everyone wants a piece of the Puck."

'Just as long as no one else is getting a piece," Sam replied, wrapping an arm possessively around Puck's waist.

"Okay," Puck said. "You just got back from spending three days writhing around with a bunch of scantily clad models on a beach photo shoot and you expect me to accept that you're jealous of a bunch of girls I haven't even talked to? I don't think so."

"Sorry," Sam said, leaning his head on Puck's shoulder. "I missed you?"

"That's better," Puck said, and kissed him on the temple.

"On _that_ note," Blaine said, putting his arm around Kurt's waist, "I should get this one home so he can get his beauty sleep."

Quinn glanced at her watch and added an hour for the train ride back to Astoria. "Me too."

"Hey," Puck said, "if you can wait for us to load up the van, I can just give you a ride home. Our practice space isn't far from your place."

The rest of their little posse left, so Sam and Quinn went to the back and helped Hello, Cleveland pack up their instruments. She got several jealous glares from misled groupies, always an ego boost, as was the flirting from the guitar player. They went out to Queens and stowed the gear in the practice space, which as far as Quinn could tell was just a small room with some cheap throw rugs on the floor and a lot of empty coffee cups and beer bottles. Then the other guys went on their way while Puck and Sam took Quinn to her place, Sam sitting in the back.

"So," Puck said. "You still totally dig her, don't you?"

"Oh my god," Quinn said. "Is it that obvious?"

"What?" Sam said.

"Let me put it this way," Puck said. "Two of the people in this van have made out horizontally with Mercedes Jones, and the other one really, really wants to."

"I can't blame you," Sam said. "She's super hot."

"She certainly is," Quinn replied.

"Wait, still?" Sam asked. "How long?"

"Since high school," Puck replied. "She just wasn't really dealing with her _bisexuality_ then."

"I know how that goes," Sam said.

"Right?" Puck said, and they bumped fists. "Always knew I'd be banging a model eventually. Just didn't know it would be a dude."

"Kurt knew," Sam said. "And man, he wouldn't stop talking about it until Blaine made him stop."

"Yeah, I know I'm going to hear it from Santana," Quinn said.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Puck asked. "Because you can't keep coming to my shows and staring at her. It's creepy."

"Shut up," she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "I don't know, maybe I'll ask her to go to dinner and see what happens?"

"If you pay it makes it more like a date," Sam advised.

"That's what I did, and it worked," Puck added.

Quinn thought about that. She did have an impulse when Mercedes was around, to want to get her drinks, push in her chair, that sort of thing. Maybe she should just go with that. "Thanks," she said. "I think that's a great idea."

* * *

It had started in high school, of course—there was probably a reason that Santana, Brittany and her were so very close other than just being the hottest girls at the school. But with Santana, it was so much _firmer_ than Quinn felt. Quinn genuinely liked boys, and hadn't even done all the "lady kissing" that Brittany had done. By senior year she'd decided her crush on Mercedes was just a phase, something that came out of her pregnancy hormones and then never really went away.

Then she went to Yale, and there were so many more girls she could actually _talk_ to, not to mention so many more girls willing to experiment without making it into necessarily something about their identity. Lesbian Until Graduation, they called it, and the boys were so … well, there were just a lot fewer boys she wanted to kiss than girls. And then it shifted to being pretty much all girls, and she found herself rethinking just about everything, including deciding that she didn't have to decide. She maybe wasn't a lesbian, like Santana, but she maybe wasn't going to go back to being a straight girl, either.

She and her mom had been through so much already, Quinn decided to let it slide until and unless she had the kind of steady girlfriend she'd want to meet her mother. She and Quinn didn't really talk about her sex life with boys, so not talking about the fooling around she was doing with girls didn't actually feel any different.

It did help make moving to New York easier, though.

* * *

"Okay am I the one who has to say this?" Kurt asked.

They're sitting on the L-shaped seat on the D train, Mercedes near the window and Kurt next to her, with Blaine sitting sideways to them, on their way home from the club. It's not too awfully late so the train isn't empty, though it's sure to get more crowded once they hit Chinatown.

"Is there something you need to announce?" Blaine asked.

"Just that Quinn Fabray was _all_ up in Mercedes's business tonight," Kurt said, pointing at her and rotating his finger.

"Oh my god, thank you for saying something," Blaine said, patting Kurt on the knee. "Because either she needs to declare herself or you do, Mercedes."

"Yes, let's please not have a repeat of last time," Kurt said.

"Last time?" Blaine asked.

Kurt glanced at Mercedes, who shrugged, so he leaned in closer and said, low, "When Quinn had her baby, her parents kicked her out of the house so she stayed at Mercedes's for a while. And, well, someone had a crush they didn't do anything about."

"Not when she was feeling so low," Mercedes said. "Take advantage of the situation, why would I do that?"

"Of course not," Blaine said. "It wouldn't be gentlemanly."

"Exactly," Mercedes said. "You don't get with people who are living with you, right?"

Kurt huffed. "Fine, fine," he said, "you're right about then, but what about now?"

"So you both noticed that?" she asked, and couldn't help smiling.

"My god," Kurt said, shaking his head. "What is with you and blonds anyway?"

Mercedes looked at Blaine, and they both started giggling.

The next morning the three of them were drinking coffee, Kurt about to leave for work, when her phone buzzed.

"Huh, I have a text from Quinn," she said. "'Dinner Saturday? My treat.'"

Blaine's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, Mercedes, that is so totally a date."

Kurt nodded. "She just asked you out."

"And go her," Blaine added.

"Someone had to," Kurt said.

Mercedes was still staring at her phone, not quite believing what was there.

Kurt bumped her shoulder with his own. "You are saying yes, aren't you?" he asked.

She smiled. "You'll help me pick out something to wear?" she asked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Like I'd let you walk out of this apartment in something I didn't approve?"

* * *

The first thing Mercedes realized when she got to college and started both singing with people she hadn't known since kindergarten and having sex was that singing with people _was_ a lot like sex. You had to make yourself emotionally vulnerable for it to be good, control your breathing, be aware of your body, and eye contact is a plus. Which explained all those glee club crushes, and made her feel better about the Kurt debacle.

She learned to put the effort into not fooling around with her collaborators on songwriting projects because that could just complicate things and not in the fun way. Everyone writing angst break-up songs about each other, Fleetwood Mac style, was only entertaining when you made a lot of money off it, Mercedes suspected, though Rachel also said that Stevie Nicks was on a lot of cocaine at the time so maybe it was that.

Of course what made college incestuous even faster was that almost everyone decided they were some flavor of not-straight, Mercedes included. Who was she to deny herself to girls or boys who were pretty and sweet and wanted to make out with her? Some nights there were giant piles of people in someone's room, just taking advantage of the closeness forged during endless tech rehearsals and fueled by post-performance adrenaline. And the next day, everyone was just as friendly as they were before. It was a good no-strings approach.

Once Mercedes moved to New York, though, and watched Puck and Sam circling around each other while Kurt pined for Blaine on Skype, she started wondering if maybe those strings aren't so bad.

* * *

They met at a little Afghan place in Hell's Kitchen, roughly the middle distance between their two apartments, at Mercedes's suggestion. Quinn might be taking her out, but Mercedes didn't want her to have to break the bank. Besides, Quinn hadn't had Afghan food before.

"Oh, it's mostly kebabs and pilaf," Quinn said, and relaxes just a little.

"I wouldn't make you go someplace too crazy," Mercedes said, smiling. "At least not without warning. Though I do love Ethiopian food."

"So do I!" Quinn said. "We used to have it in college all the time."

"Good, then we can go there next," Mercedes said, then felt suddenly nervous. "If you like."

Quinn smiled. "I'd like. I want to try things—I know it's more sophisticated to have an adventurous palate, but sometimes I look at a menu and, well, Lima doesn't exactly prepare you for international cuisine."

"Especially when most of the time we ate at one place," Mercedes replied.

They fell silent, and it was weird how awkward this was, how it being a date rather than just friends made it feel strange and new, almost as if their history together had vanished, or maybe was amplified in a particularly unhelpful way. The waiter came to take their orders but he was no help, standing silently and departing quickly. Mercedes cleared her throat and took a sip of water, trying not to stare at Quinn.

"Do you miss singing?" she asked Quinn, and winced—she wasn't sure where that had come from, at all, and looked up, hoping she hadn't sounded too judgmental.

But Quinn just looked slightly startled. "I still sing," she said. "Just not in front of people. Now it's personal. It's something that belongs to me, you know?"

"Sure," Mercedes said, though she didn't exactly get it, but that was okay.

"I'm excited to hear you sing," Quinn continued. "I haven't actually seen you perform—wow, since our senior year. Since we won Nationals."

"It'll give you a pretty good tour of every shady club in New York, watching me sing," Mercedes joked.

"More than watching Puck's band?" Quinn asked, cocking her head.

Mercedes giggled. "No, not more than _that_ ," she said.

The appetizer came then, crisp fried pumpkin dumplings with a yogurt sauce, and Mercedes watched as Quinn took her first bite.

"Oh my god," she said. "Oh my god, these are so good."

"I'm glad you like them," Mercedes said, trying not to think too much about how Quinn's eyes closed in pleasure as she enjoyed her _bulanee_.

After that, it was easy. Quinn asked Mercedes about her composing, Mercedes asked Quinn about her job, they talked about mutual friends and college friends and you wouldn't think it was any different than being out with a friend. But there was a low hum of energy, just below the surface, and their hands kept "accidentally" bumping each other, and somehow their feet had become entwined under the table, as if their bodies knew what they wanted even if they weren't flirting with their words. Plus, Quinn had a _stare_ , which Mercedes had seen in action before but hadn't really been the object of until tonight, and if she'd thought Quinn was attentive to her the other night it was nothing like this.

As they left the restaurant Quinn said "It's still early. We could get coffee down the street."

"You know I work in a diner, right?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes?"

"So I make a damn good cup of coffee," she said. "At my apartment in Brooklyn." Because after all, Quinn _had_ asked her on this date, and she shouldn't have to do all the heavy lifting.

Quinn blinked, then said, "You aren't worried about going too fast?"

"We've been dancing around each other since the end of sophomore year," Mercedes said. "I think we've taken it pretty damn slow."

On the train back to Brooklyn Mercedes thought she'd vibrate right out of her skin, but she didn't want their first kiss, their first touches to be on a street corner or the subway. They sat next to each other, looking and trying not to look, giggling whenever their eyes meet, and she didn't even wonder how it took them so long because this just felt right, like the stars were aligned or some nonsense.

The reserve broke down when they got inside Mercedes's building. Quinn was trying to grab her keys, make a show of opening the door for her, and it took a few tries to get the key in the lock (that Mercedes's hands were shaking a little probably didn't help) so they tumbled into the apartment, wrapped around each other and laughing.

And then Mercedes heard her roommate's voice.

"Yeah," Kurt was saying into his phone, "they're here, so can you come pick us up? We'll be waiting outside. Thanks!"

"You were waiting for me?" Mercedes asked.

"Just in case," Kurt replied, slipping on his jacket.

"Now we're headed over to my place," Blaine said.

"So that was Puck," she said, though it couldn't have been anyone else—he was the only one they knew in the city with a car.

"Yep," Kurt said. "He and Sam are driving over from Astoria and the four of us are going to go play canasta." Which was what Kurt always said when he went over to Blaine and Sam's apartment and Puck was there. Mercedes wasn't exactly sure if they actually played cards, but she also didn't really want to know.

"But—Astoria?" Quinn asked. "They were—"

"Waiting for you, yes," Blaine said. " _Of course_ we'd take care of you. Both of you. Which reminds me, brunch, or lunch, or whatever. Just call us when you're ready to emerge."

"Really?" Mercedes asked.

"Like you'd be able to get away with not giving us the low-down," Kurt said, walking over to the door as Mercedes and Quinn moved further into the apartment. "Oh, and there are plenty of dental dams in the bathroom cabinet," he added.

"Thanks, Mom," Mercedes said, and Kurt gave a little wave before they both walked out the door.

"Oh my god," Quinn said, slumping down onto the couch.

"Welcome to your new life," Mercedes said, sitting down next to her.

Quinn sat up, smiling, and slipped off her jacket. Then she moved to sit in Mercedes' lap, straddling her legs. "At least they know when to leave, right?" she asked, sliding her hands over Mercedes's shoulders.

"Thank goodness for that," Mercedes replied.

And then they kissed, _finally_ , and it was familiar as though they'd been kissing since they were fifteen, and shocking as though Mercedes had never been kissed before, warm with knowledge and bumpy with discovery. The idea that she'd be able to discover this body that she'd known for so long, find the places that made her squeal and pant and shiver and come, made her pull back.

"Bedroom?" she asked.

"Please," Quinn said, and kissed her again.

* * *

A week later, they put on their big girl pants and got onto Skype to call Los Angeles.

"Well _finally_ ," Santana said. "About time you made a move on that, Fabray."

Quinn rolled her eyes, and could feel her cheeks heating. "I know, I know," she said.

"I would send you a present," Brittany said, "but ladykisses are their own reward."

"All right," Santana said, sitting back from the screen and putting her feet up on the desk. "Tell us the whole story from the beginning, don't leave anything out, and know that we will mock you from now until the end of time, because we love you."

"Oh we know," Mercedes said, smiling, and she looked so pretty and happy that Quinn had to kiss her, mocking be damned.

"Oh my god, they're like newlyweds," Santana said. "Get a room!"


End file.
